


Socks

by MostlyStars



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Melchior will fight anyone and everyone, Modern AU, Moritz is a precious duck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-18
Updated: 2016-12-18
Packaged: 2018-09-09 12:24:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8890672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyStars/pseuds/MostlyStars
Summary: Melchior is helping Moritz find a Secret Santa gift when trouble arrives in the form of Georg Zirschnitz.





	

“Melchi, how am I supposed to find a gift for someone I don’t even know?”

He lifts a snowglobe off one of the shelves and shakes it. “Come on, it’s all in the spirit of Christmas.” The words are dotted with sarcasm.

“I’m not sure I know what that is.” I lean against the shelves on the opposite side of the Target aisle. “I mean, Secret Santa? Isn’t Santa already supposed to be kind of a secret?”

Melchior ignores my remark, playing with more snowglobes. “Just buy them some candy or something. Everybody likes sugar.”

“But the slip doesn’t say what kind of candy they like. Just that they’re a cat person and like fuzzy socks.”

He turns around. “It’s easy then: Just get them fuzzy socks  _ with _ cats. Really, this isn’t a big deal.”

“Of course it is! What if this one gift makes or breaks somebody’s Christmas?”

“You think too much.”

“And besides, I don’t even know where the fuzzy socks section is. Is there a section?”

“Oh, come on,” he says, grabbing my arm and steering me down the aisle. “You’re helpless.”

I let him guide me through Target to an area near the front that contains everything from scarves to backpacks. On one table in the middle of it all, pairs of socks -- wool, knee-high, fuzzy -- are laid out in neat rows.

Melchior goes to stand next to the table and gestures at it. “Voila.”

Hesitantly, I approach the socks. Suddenly, I feel self conscious. Are other people watching? My eyes dart around the many pairs, but I don’t see the ones Melchi suggested.

I turn to him. “There’s no cats.”

He looks away from picking at his nails. “Just pick some polka dots or something.”

“But--” In my rational mind, I know a little thing like this shouldn’t matter. A five dollar gift to someone who will probably forget it in a week? Hardly worth any effort. But that doesn’t stop me from feeling pressured to meet a standard. “But they said they like cats,” I finish lamely.

“Well, your budget won’t exactly buy a cat, so some socks will have to do.”

I tell myself that he is right and then painstakingly debate over which fuzzy socks to get. Striped or dotted? Green or purple? Short or long? Eventually, I cast a worried glance over at Melchi. Letting out a small sigh, he picks a seemingly random pair that are blue with white stars.

Socks in hand, he heads toward the checkout lanes. In Lane 5, as we wait for someone’s groceries to be scanned ahead of us, he turns to me. “Do you have money?”

I pull a crumpled ten out of my pocket and hand it to him. He accepts it wordlessly. We stand and wait for a couple minutes, then the socks are being scanned and thrown in a bag. Melchior makes polite conversation with the employee, casting bored looks in my direction each time they turn away, then pays with the ten I gave him.

Walking away from the checkout, Melchi hands me my bag and receipt.

“Thanks,” I say. After a few too many panicked checkout interactions on my part, he has come to just do it for me. I’m grateful for this and, really, it doesn’t seem to inconvenience him too much.

We are just passing through the automatic doors when I turn at a voice behind me. “Oh, Moritz, did your boyfriend buy you a present? How  _ sweet _ .” There, surrounded by an ensemble of fellow students, is Georg Zirschnitz.

Immediately, it feels as if I can’t breathe. What do I do? I can’t talk politely to people, let alone deal with a confrontation. What do I--

“Just ignore him, Moritz.” Melchior grabs my arm and starts pulling me outside. Once again, I am so grateful he is here. He’ll know what to do. He always does.

We walk away, but Georg’s voice calls out again behind us. “Leaving so soon? Why not stay and chat? I hear you love that, Moritz.”

Melchi stops and begins to turn around. “How dare he--”

This time, I grab his arm. “Just leave it, Melchi.”

“And you too,  _ Melchi _ . Really. You can help finish all of your boyfriend’s sentences.”

We are frozen, on the precipice of the parking lot. Not knowing what else to do, and before I can think about it, I face Georg. “Just stop, okay?” The words are barely loud enough to be heard by him.

Georg stiffens, placing a mockingly surprised hand to his chest. “He speaks!”

What do I do now?

I want to run. To pretend like this isn’t happening at all. I glance over at Melchi. He’s looking at the boys too, tense with irritation. “Go away.” Unlike mine, his voice has a force to it.

“And why would I do that?”

Melchi takes a step forward and I grab his arm again so he doesn’t take any more. I don’t trust him to not start a fight. “Do you get some kind of sick pleasure out of making people feel less than you? Because I’ll have you know--”

“Not just  _ any  _ people. It’s mostly you. And, you know, your boyfriend.” Georg tips his head in my direction. I know he can see the fear on my face, the way I’ve wrapped my sleeves around my hands. Now I really do feel helpless.

“Would you stop  _ calling _ him that?” Melchior says through his teeth.

Georg starts walking toward us, his friends trailing him like lost puppies. I pull on Melchi’s sleeve --  _ please, let’s go --  _ but he moves his arm away.

“Sorry, is the word not out yet? Would you like me to tell everyone? Because I can.”

Melchior takes a step forward. Already I know what he is going to do. “That won’t be necessary,” he says, too calm.

“Melchi, don’t--”

Before I can finish, Melchior swings his fist up to hit Georg. Faster than my eye can follow, though, Georg grabs his hand and then punches Melchior with his other. Immediately, he drops and I run to him.

Crouched next to him, I lay a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Are you okay?”

He shakes off my touch and starts to stand. “I’m going to kill him.” As soon as he tries to walk, though, he stumbles and I have to catch him.

As I look around, it seems Georg and his friends have already left. A large part of me is glad they aren’t here anymore and that part of this mess is over. “They’re gone,” I tell Melchi.

“Whatever. Next time.” His words are nasally. I turn him around to see his face, only to find that red is spilling from his nose.

“Oh God, you’re bleeding.” I feel as if everyone in the parking lot could be staring at us, even though I don’t see anyone around.

He reaches up and touches the blood. Laughs. “Indeed.”

I groan, then steer him back inside. “You’re a mess.”

He keeps laughing as I guide him into the restroom, then hand him an enormous wad of paper towels. He holds them up to his face and we walk back to his car. Wordlessly, he hands me his keys and sits in the passenger seat.

With shaking hands, I start the car. Driving out of the parking lot and onto the main road, I repeatedly glance over at him. He only sits silently, but with a grin on his face.

After about ten minutes of this, I say, “Stop smiling like that. You look like a psychopath.”

“I just feel good, Moritz.”

“Why? You’re the one who lost.”

Silence. Then: “I don’t know. I just feel fine. It doesn’t even hurt.”

I have to force my eyes to stay on the road. “I think you might be delirious.”

“Sure,” he says, but I’m not sure he actually listened to what I said. “You’re taking me home, right?”

“No, we’re going to my house.” I make a left into my neighborhood.

“What, why?”

I don’t reply. I pull into my driveway, put the car in park, and turn it off. Nobody else is home -- for which I am grateful -- so I take Melchior in through the front door. His wad of paper towels is half stained with red, but I can’t tell if it is spreading anymore.

In my upstairs bathroom, I have him sit on the edge of the bathtub. Having not said a word since we were in the car, he speaks up: “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I didn’t want you to get in trouble. And I have medical supplies here.” Already, I have pulled out my stocked first aid kit from under the sink. From inside, I pull out clean wipes in rip-open packets and turn to Melchi. “Are you still bleeding?”

He lowers the paper towels, glancing at them. “I don’t think so.”

“Good. Clean your face off with these.” I hand him the towelettes. While he is doing that, I root around in the kit on the counter until I find aspirin.

“Why do you have all this stuff?” He is still rubbing away the scarlet on his face.

_ For when my dad gets angry _ . But I can’t say that. “Too many questions.”

“I haven’t even asked that many. And,” he adds, “I feel they are warranted in the situation.”

I try my best not to roll my eyes. It’s such a Melchior thing to say. “Fine. If I tell you, will you answer a question of mine?”

“Probably.” He throws out his used wipes and sits, arms crossed.

“My dad gets angry sometimes.” I see a flash of emotion cross his face, but before he can say anything, I ask, “Why did you punch Georg?”

He shrugs. “Because I wanted to.”

“That’s hardly an answer.” I sit next to him and hand him the aspirin and a cup of water. 

He swallows them. Throws out the cup. Then, without making eye contact. “I didn’t like what he was saying.”

I think back on Georg’s words. “Listen, Melchi, everyone knows we’re friends. That you aren’t--”

He suddenly looks at me. “And what if I was?”

For a moment, the words don’t make sense in my muddled head. Like they couldn’t possibly fit with my mental concept of Melchior Gabor. Eventually, I ask softly, “Are you?”

He turns away, running a hand through his hair. Even this feels like it doesn’t align with my idea of him. Melchi doesn’t get flustered.

“I don’t know,” he says roughly. “Maybe?”

I take this in. “That’s not a bad thing. It’s okay, you know.”

“You think I don’t know that?” He’s saying this to the walls, the lights, the sink. Anything but me. “It’s-- everyone else. They don’t seem to know that.”

“Like Georg.”

He finally turns to me. “Yeah. Like him.”

I search for anything helpful to say. “Well, I’m sorry he said it--”

“He was saying it to you too.” I freeze. I was hoping we could leave me out of this. “And a whole bunch of other things. And I hated that.”

“Melchi--”

He cuts me off, his eyes wide and insistent. “Really. Why would anyone say anything bad about you? You literally never say anything to anyone. Me? Sure. I get it -- I can be a jerk sometimes.”

“How hard did he hit you, Melchi, because--”

“Okay, a lot of the time. But you? You’re great. I like you, Moritz.”

What is happening? Do punches normally make people talk so nonsensically? “Do you need to lay down?” I ask him.

“I need--” He draws in a deep breath. Another. “I just need--” His voice stops short. He looks as if he can’t gather his thoughts.

“Please, you’re scaring me. Just tell me--” I am cut off by Melchi leaning forward and kissing me.

Instantly, I freeze. I can feel the heat rushing to my face. The kiss lasts for only a second before he pulls away, looking tentative and weary.

We both talk at the same time:

“Melchi, what just--”

“Moritz, I’m so sorry--”

Then we stop. He stands up, looking ready to escape. He continues with what he was saying: “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-- It just--”

I stay sitting, feeling shocked and oddly detached, but also light. “It’s okay.” He looks at me, with an expression that tells me he doesn’t trust the words. “Really,” I continue. “That was-- It was--” I fumble for the right thing to say. “It’s more than okay.”

He is breathing hard, staring at me as if expecting me to take back the words any second. “You’re serious?”

I stand and move to be standing right in front of him. I’ve never been good at words, especially not now, so I only nod.

“So, it’s okay if--” He tentatively lifts a hand to my cheek, his eyes asking permission. I nod and he closes the gap between us.

**Author's Note:**

> What is this? Great question.  
> It happened.  
> It's here now.  
> ???
> 
> ***
> 
> Any and all feedback is appreciated!


End file.
